The Calm after the Storm
by Mighty-wants-to-draw
Summary: After Kenny's wish, Christophe wakes up alone next to his own hole, until a friend comes looking for him. Movie one-shot.


Christophe's eyes slowly fluttered open as he was pulled back into reality. His eyes met with an ocean of blue. The sky was as clear as it could get. For a moment, the mole didn't move an inch, as if the sun gently warming him and the fresh air were just a part of some dream. He didn't even remember why he was lying there outside in the dirt, but it honestly didn't feel that bad.

He started with a finger, then curled both his hands into fists, the numbness in his body slowly fading away. He turned his head to his left, where his eyes met with a hole dug into the ground. And then it all came back to him. He recalled being held, green eyes staring intently at him.

 _No mole, hang on._

 _We'll get you home._

Well, they surely didn't, but what could three children really do with a useless dead body? Fucking guard dogs, what a shitty way to die, because he remembered dying.

And yet he was alive?

With a grunt, Christophe sat up, his head throbbing. His clothes were torn, especially his pants, which he had used to kick the dogs away best he could when they had caught up with him. The deep bites and claw marks seemed to have magically healed and scarred, but they were still there, covered in dry blood. Slowly, he reached into a thankfully untouched pouch strapped tightly on his right thigh from which he pulled out his cigarette pack and match box. His hands were slightly trembling for a reason he couldn't explain, but he still had no trouble sliding his cigarette between his lips and lighting up a match, transferring the small flame on the orange and white cylinder. He softly inhaled, and blew some smoke out of his mouth. He stayed there for about half an hour, smoking cigarettes one after the other, letting the very light breeze play around with his mud-stained hair. Honestly, he had no idea why he stayed there. Going back home and announce to his mother he wasn't dead sounded like a more reasonable plan. His legs felt still numb, but he had gone through much worse before, he would surely be walking properly after a few seconds, so why was he still down?

 _This isn't so bad_ , he thought, inhaling smoke from his cigarette another time.

For once, his mind didn't drift in some kind of angry hurricane of foul language and curses directed to God, he didn't really feel like calling him names, even the less offensive of all. He was surprisingly calm, heck, he almost felt sleepy from being so peaceful.

Was he really not dead? It didn't sound like him to not be angry, especially when it concerned God.

His answer came running. Well, walking.

"Mole?" a voice with some kind of british accent called out rather quietly.

"Hey," he simply answered to the boy right behind him.

Silence.

"Is it... really you?" asked the boy, apparently surprised to see him there.

"No, it's Barney ze dinosaur," the comment was sarcastic, but his tone didn't show one hint of sarcasm, his face remaining as blank as it could be.

Gregory sat next to him, leaning his arms on his bent knees up to his chest, "So I guess _the war_ included things before the battles..."

"What?" Christophe frowned, his first expression ever since he woke up.

"A boy made a wish to Satan and brought back to life everyone who died because of the war."

"A wish to...?" he was about to ask a question about it, but figured he frankly didn't care enough to hear some weird story. "Okay, I don't want to know what happened."

"There is nothing to tell, really, it was just some weird chain of events," said the blonde, refusing the cigarette Mole offered him with a hand movement, as always. "Point is, I thought you were still dead."

"Why did you come here, then?"

"The whole town's celebrating the end of the war, _somebody_ had to come and get your body."

"Right, and you thought you could get me somewhere all by yourself?"

"I would have called an ambulance, the objective was to _find_ your body." Gregory sighed, and put a hand on the other boy's shoulder. "I'm just glad you're alright, Mole."

"Ugh, don't touch me," was Christophe's only reply.

The blonde silently removed his hand. At least, he now knew his friend was the same as before. He grabbed on people's collars all the time, at the slightiest of frustrations, but he hated being touched. Christophe's logic didn't make sense, but he wouldn't be himself if he wasn't this way. They remained silent for a moment, the wind whistling at their ears being the only sound they could hear. The french boy rarely stopped to just sit around, but he had chosen a nice place. Well, not really _chosen_ , but...

"So what about that girl you've been looking at?" finally asked the mole, blowing smoke away from them, "Did you get her in the end?"

"Wendy? No, she's with that other boy, Stan."

"Stan? Not the worst choice, he's sort of oblivious, but at least he does his job properly."

Gregory extended both his legs, finding his current sitting position uncomfortable, "You know what she told him when he asked her about me? 'Fuck Gregory, fuck him right in the ear'."

Christophe snorted with a stupid smile on his face, the second time he showed some emotion since he woke up, and the closest he got to laughing since... a vey long time.

"So she was all nice and innocent to you, and then talked sheet when she thought you weren't watching. She's just like ze other bitches in town."

Gregory lightly hit him with his elbow, "Don't say that, you always talk like all girls are two-faced, that's not how it is."

"Good luck proving it."

Gregory prefered to not reply and stood up.

"We should get you home," said the blonde, offering hand to help up his friend. "Can you walk?"

Instead of answering, Christophe stood up all on his own, competely ignoring the help offered to him... as always. The numbness wasn't completely gone, and his right foot, the one he had kicked the most dogs with, ached a bit. When he wavered lightly, Gregory grabbed his arm to keep him from falling and decided to violate the _don't touch me_ rule even further. He passed the french boy's arm behind his neck and put his free arm around his waist.

"You don't need to do that, Gregory."

"I'd rather do this than have you fall face first and break your nose. You've got enough blood and mud on your face, you don't need any more."

"What?" Mole said, bringing a hand to his face, where he felt a crusty substance at some places. "Huh..."

"We can wash it off when we get to some water, if you want."

"I'll pass, I won't be grounded for too long if I look miserable enough."

"As you wish," shrugged Gregory as they started walking back to town.

As they left the place of his death, Christophe looked back up at the sky, feeling the sun on his face one last time before they'd get back to town, before he'd get grounded. But even though he knew what was coming, he didn't find himself bothered by it at the moment. He didn't feel angry, nor miserable, and as he looked back in front of him, he thought, for once, that maybe it didn't suck so much. For a few seconds, he thought that maybe, just maybe, God wasn't that much of an asshole.


End file.
